His shirt read Money. A ragged hole had replaced the O.
I looked away, thanked whatever gods exist that I enjoyed better fortune, and opened the door.
Teenagers festooned with headphones and piercings stormed out, hopped up on Red Bull and candy and who knows what else.
I stumbled, then found my balance.
A finger tapped my shoulder. The beggar, holding my iPhone.
“Pardon me, Brother,” he said. “You dropped this.”